


Whiskey and Coke

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal, Drunk Sex, Forties, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's night didn't go to plan, and no amounts of dames and booze are going to drown this need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey and Coke

**Author's Note:**

> plot? haha what plot?

Bucky tried to keep stumbling to a minimum as he let himself in to the dark apartment, pressing his keys clumsily against the lock. He breathed against his hand; the smell of alcohol rebounded and hit him, making him grimace. The heat and flush in his cheeks rose further as he came from the cold of the Brooklyn night to the relative warmth of the living room. Bucky took a breath, deep through his nose before loosening his tie, kicking his shoes off and slumping onto the couch.

The debate started. It had been a rough night, the one thing Bucky had set out to do had failed and drinking himself hazy was the only ‘good’ idea he had managed to come up with. The dame he had been counting on to push the thoughts of Steve out of his head for him had been a no show, so he had tried to numb the desire with whiskey and coke. He questioned whether to face the feelings head on and brave-walk his way into the bed that they shared.

Sometimes. They shared it in the winter or when Steve was sick, but the rules were not rigid and more often than not Bucky would find himself navigating Steve’s room in the dark and climb into the run down bed with him. They were good nights for Bucky, the closeness and warmth was enough to temporarily soothe that nagging discomfort he felt for not being able to touch Steve as often as he wanted.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice echoed from the bedroom, hoarse with sleep or surprise.

Bucky frowned into his hands before making his way into the bedroom slowly.

“Yeah, s’just me,” he reassured, closing the door behind him, “Go back to sleep.”

Steve frowned, Bucky knew that face. Steve had called his act and was ready to interrogate full force.

“You’re back late,” Steve pointed out, “And you’re rat-assed drunk.”

Bucky nodded slowly, admitting his misdemeanour reluctantly. The small fear he had at Steve’s reaction faded instantly when the blonde’s face changed, softening into a frown of concern rather that annoyance.

“What happened, Buck?” Steve asked, swinging his legs off of the bed and looking Bucky square in the eyes.

Bucky shook his head, pulling a face of false nonchalance that he knew didn’t work the moment it grew on his face. He sat down next to Steve on the bed and put a hand on the smaller man’s knee, rubbing slowly with his thumb.

“Just…” Bucky huffed a sigh, letting his drunken vision blur comfortably, “Just a hard night, baby.”  


Bucky bit his lip immediately noticing his slight of tongue. He felt his face colour further and ran his hands over his cheeks roughly to disperse it.

“Sorry, Stevie,” Bucky mumbled, “Didn’t mean to…”  


Steve shushed him, lying him down and shuffling his shirt over his head. Steve’s fingertips grazed up his sides like blades, hitting his already bristling skin and making his heart run on kerosene.

“What’re you doin’?” Bucky slowed when he heard the breathless spike in his voice.

Steve smiled, dragging Bucky’s slacks to his knees before roughly folding them and climbing into the bed next to him.

“I didn’t trust you with buttons,” Steve chuckled, putting a soothingly cold hand on Bucky’s forehead to smooth back the rogue hairs that were escaping their pomade prison.

“And you’re gonna tell me why you’ve come back looking so shot.”

Bucky grimaced at the thought, taking a steadying breath.

“And you’re gonna remember that I know when you’re lying to me.”

Bucky nodded slowly, collecting the information like scraps of paper in wind before turning to face Steve properly.

“I wanted to…to put some stuff outta my head,” Bucky admitted, keeping his voice level with a dry clearing of his throat.

“Stuff about you, about me and you that’s been…confusing me.”

Steve nodded slowly, urging the Sergeant to carry on, uncomfortable with the new silence in the dark bedroom, suddenly unpierced by traffic or birds in the night. Pure silence.

“I try so hard, Stevie,” Bucky shook his head, frowning at the dark, warping cerulean of the ceiling.

“I try and go for dames cause’ it easier and all,” Bucky ignored the climbing in his throat, “Make me feel more…normal I guess.”

Steve stayed still apart from one hand which he placed on Bucky’s chest, flat-palmed and grounding.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Bucky croaked out, “Cause’ when I get home…”

Bucky gritted his teeth to stop the uncharacteristic wave of emotion behind his words from making him look any more of a fool. He steadied himself, concentrating on Steve’s hand in the centre of his chest.

“What happens when you get home, Buck?” Steve’s voice was soft, small and comforting against the pounding of Bucky’s heart in his ears.

“I want you,” Bucky near enough blurted out, “I want you so bad it hurts, because as soon as I walk through that door you’re my world all over again.”

Steve nodded, slow and even, a gentle frown creasing his brow as he absorbed the outburst. He propped himself up so he was looking down at Bucky, his hand still in the centre of the brunet’s chest.

“I’m right here,” Steve said quietly, “If you want me, I’m right here.”

Bucky looked Steve in the eye for what felt like an hour or a second, it didn’t matter. The smaller man’s eyes were alight despite the darkness in the room and it was a fire that seemed to crawl deep into Bucky’s stomach to make its home.

“Why the _hell_ not, Buck?” Steve persisted, nudging Bucky’s cheek so he faced him.

The rough treatment coiled in his stomach. It was enough to push Bucky past the mental block he had been nursing for far too long. He grabbed Steve’s hands, pinning them firmly above his head before closing his lips around his mouth and kissing him until he gasped and pulled away. Bucky ducked his head, pressing his lips hard against Steve’s neck in trailing open-mouthed kiss. His head swam, each movement seemed to throw him further than it was supposed to and the bed underneath them felt like it had a suction, pulling him back again and again in search of the heat he had been fighting.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky mumbled between kisses, “Sorry for hiding all this, I’m sorry…”

Steve silenced the rambling with his mouth, knotting his fists in Bucky’s hair and pulling him forward, wrapping his legs around his waist

“Make it up to me,” Steve teased, guiding Bucky’s lips back to his neck.

Bucky blew out a sigh of shaky arousal against the Steve’s collarbones. The rush to touch and feel every part of him was putting a clumsy urgency into his movements, but the other half of him was desperate to prolong the overwhelming barrage of pleasure that was pushing him closer and closer to an edge he had forgotten he had.

Ducking his head so that his hair trailed a sensitive line down Steve’s stomach, he moved his attention to his hipbones, letting his teeth graze the soft, slightly protruding planes of skin and watching as Steve bowed his back off of the mattress to press into the contact. The unguarded, impatient movement went to Bucky’s stomach like a shot of scotch.

“You’re perfect, Stevie,” Bucky rambled, ham-fistedly pulling off Steve’s underpants and throwing them somewhere in the room, “Too damn perfect.”

Steve merely moaned a response as he was absorbed by the irresistible and almost overwhelming heat of Bucky’s mouth, pulling him apart inch by inch. The blond looked down through his lashes at the rhythmic bobbing of his partner’s head, transfixed on the motion and the small wet sounds of suction that came with it.

“Buck…” Steve’s voice came out weaker and smaller than he anticipated, “Buck, I’m gonna go,”

Bucky slid his mouth away, wiping his lips with the back of his hand before positioning himself between Steve’s legs and taking his lips to his neck again.

“Jesus, I wanna’ make you feel good,” Bucky muttered distractedly, fumbling with the small tube of petroleum on the nightstand and squeezing it messily onto his fingers before removing his underpants onehandedly.

He gave Steve a look of confirmation before pressing one finger past the rings of muscle and curling it towards himself. Steve curled awkwardly under Bucky’s weight, pushing towards and away from the stimulation all at once, his gasps of deep breath steadily turning into rhythmic moans as Bucky increased the speed of his fingers. The brunet used the preoccupation in his hands to compose himself enough to buy him some time.

Bucky slid away his fingers slowly before squeezing more petroleum onto his hands and covering his length. The slight was enough to bring more speed to what he was doing.

“You’re sure?” Bucky confirmed, kissing the soft spot under Steve’s ear as he spoke, making the smaller man shiver.

Steve nodded, closing his eyes and gripping Bucky’s shoulder’s as the Sergeant pushed in. The fullness was difficult to manage, but he would not have exchanged it for the world.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve thought about this, baby,” Bucky pinned Steve’s arms above his head as he spoke, exposing his chest to more desperate, quick kisses.

Bucky let the feeling swamp him, his slowly waning drunkenness making all that much easier to fall into the bubble of stimulation and pleasure that was creeping through him like a fever. The only sounds, smells and sights that mattered, all he could touch, was Steve and it hit him like a twenty foot wall of water.

“Buck, oh, oh.”  


Bucky almost chuckled at the climbing and urgency in Steve’s voice as he fell apart between them, painting Bucky’s chest in shaky white streaks and leaving scratch marks on his shoulder blades. The brunet let himself go, abandoning any embarrassment as he huffed a half-stifled moan of release into the pillow beneath them.

“Don’t hide shit from me again, Barnes,” Steve whispered, fatigue clouding his voice.

Bucky smiled; he’d never have to.


End file.
